


The Dissipating Fog

by magrittesque, shuyal



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Aristocracy, Historical, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Translation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-04 22:15:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3092909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magrittesque/pseuds/magrittesque, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuyal/pseuds/shuyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>As the fog dissipates, another world will manifest before our eyes. The  voice that called out for me night after night has faded into the void, leaving me chasing after pinpoints of light in total darkness...</i><br/> </p><p>Mats is an aristocrat, and the pale, mysterious Marquis Höwedes elicits a peculiar sense of deja vu in him.</p><p> <br/><b>Note: This is a work of translation</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Encounters

**Author's Note:**

> One of the most exquisite fics I've read in any language. I was a huge fan of Anne Rice in high school, so naturally, I couldn't resist a beautifully-written vampire AU.
> 
> Props to the author for letting me translate this despite my deplorable level of Chinese, but I tried my best to do it justice. (If you could read Chinese, go for the original text!)
> 
> Enjoy!

On the Lord's Day, ancient hymns are sung by priests and disciples alike in antiquated cathedrals, where light from beyond the dusty domes barely penetrates the stagnant air below. The hazy mist hovering outside the cathedral walls clung to the windows, tainting both the patterned stain glass as well as the exhalations of disciples.

Mats Julian von Hummels raised his head towards the heavy wooden cross suspended above the altar, and by the flickering candlelight, pictured their merciful Lord watching over His creations from above. With his right hand, he traced the sign of the cross over his chest and touched his index finger to his lips, drawing the lengthy service to a close.

As the bells tolled, members of the aristocracy filed out of the cathedral doors to an eager crowd of villagers, who gathered regularly on Sundays in order to catch a glimpse of their lords and ladies, and if they were lucky, perhaps receive a bit of charity to brighten up their wretched lives.

Mats watched his mother extract a money bag and proceed to distribute coins into the grubby, grime-stained hands of the villagers.

"See that girl over there?" Sven von Bender edged closer to Mats and whispered playfully in his ear. "She waits for you in the crowd every Sunday." The latter followed his gaze, catching sight of a brunette maiden bowing her head bashfully. 

"What a lovely girl, shame she's a mere commoner. But really, that shouldn't matter all that much, right?" Sven elbowed Mats gently with a mischievous grin splayed across his features.

"Sven, you make no secret of your idleness, hm? When will you ever learn to be more like your brother?" Mats returned his gaze to the younger Bender twin, blinking pensively at him.

A few steps away, the sight of Lars von Bender, Count of Mainz nodding and uttering "God bless you" to the grateful crowd effectively hushed Sven up. He chuckled lightly, and trailed leisurely behind the surging crowd.

From the bend of the road emerged an unfamiliar blue-clad figure, brushing past Mats with the ghost of a glance, leaving a lingering trace of fragrant amber in his wake.


	2. The Marquis

Beneath the cover of nightfall, light emanating from ornately-designed torches and candelabras shone like countless beacons from the ceiling and walls, illuminating the gloomy interiors of the limestone castle. Elaborately-dressed guests sipped wine and nibbled on fresh fruit between snatches of conversation and laughter, while a lively tune of lutes and reeds played on in the background.

The host of the banquet, Lars von Bender sat at the head of the table alongside his recently-wedded sister, the newly-crowned Grand Duchess. Although the merrymaking has begun, their guest of honour has yet to arrive.

Mats clutched a silver goblet engraved with the Bender family crest between his fingers, caressing the encrusted rubies absentmindedly, while the violinist brought along by his mother talked animated about the intricacies of the current tune. He watched his father make his way through the crowd confidently, stopping to greeting various guests almost as if he were the host instead, with his maroon velvet doublet appearing as dark as the night under the dim light.

Without warning, the clamouring crowd abruptly grew silent, while the music played on, uninterrupted by the rhythmic clacking of heels against the hard floor. Mats, along with most guests, turned and glanced curiously towards the approaching figure.

He was clad in simple yet tasteful garments of an indigo hue, with black carnelian gems adorning his belt and torso. Above the high-collared shirt emerged a face of slight pallor, while his flaxen locks shone beneath light reflected from the candelabras.

The curve of his thin lips stirred something in the back of Mats' mind, and he dimly recalled the dashing man who brushed past him outside the cathedral days ago.

"The Marquis Benedikt von Höwedes of Schalke." His name and title was announced loudly by his pageboy to the crowd, who was buzzing with speculation as to whether the new arrival was the reclusive and mysterious guest mentioned earlier by the Count of Mainz.

Lars left his seat and greeted the delayed guest with a courteous bow and smile. "It is my utmost pleasure to welcome you to my humble abode, Marquis Höwedes."

In stark contrast to the warm greetings from the host, the Marquis's demeanor appeared cool and distant. He turned and bowed curtly to Lars' sister, who remained seated at the table, then carelessly motioned for the servant in black livery behind him to step forth.

"A small gift for the Grand Duchess, I hope it is to your liking."

The intricately-patterned lid was lifted to reveal a dazzling diamond brooch nestled in a bed of rich crimson satin, with the surrounding guests drawing their breaths collectively.

The Grand Duchess beamed with evident delight at the gift, raising her goblet for a toast: "Milord, you are far too generous. Please make yourself at home and enjoy the festivities tonight."

Rounds of well-wishes echoed around the room as the guests drained their goblets. Once again, lively music rang throughout the cavernous space.

Lars raised his hand to the Marquis and gestured for a round of introductions, but the latter's eyes darted around the room, until they rested on Mats, deep in conversation with Sven.

Pointedly ignoring Sven's suggestion to converse with a certain young lady, Mats smiled apologetically in her direction, He certainly did not wish to become the source of a myriad of rumours following the banquet. The next moment, his eyes met those of the Marquis, and his grip on his goblet tightened involuntarily.

For the steady gaze of the Marquis was like an invisible needle puncturing his chest, where a dull ache began to throb.

Mats was shaken out of his reverie by a gentle tug on his wrist. He looked down, and was greeted by a dark-haired girl peering eagerly at him. Forcing himself to smile, he took the hand of his younger sister and allowed her to lead him playfully to the centre of the ballroom, where a new song has just been struck up.

Ahead of him, the Marquis entwined the tips of his pale, slim fingers with those of the Grand Duchess. As they stepped, bowed, and turned in time to the melody, Mats brushed shoulders once more with the Marquis, as if replaying the scene from that misty Sunday outside the cathedral. This time, his cool voice spoke up against the vibrant tunes.

"I think I remember encountering you the other day, Sir Hummels."


	3. Veltins Castle

The next occasion that Mats and the Marquis chanced upon each other was at a private dinner party hosted by the Hummels family. Although the dashing young Marquis had only recently presented himself to the lords and ladies of the vicinity, his arrival has become a much-discussed topic. They spoke of his splendid castle on the borders of the kingdom, his family title inherited through countless generations, as well as his vast treasury hidden within the depths of the adjacent woods.

Upon hearing these rumours, the elderly Duke of Dortmund decided to host the intriguing visitor in his own home, so as to confirm the rumours firsthand from the most reliable source.

The Marquis accepted the invitation graciously, arriving at dinner in a timely fashion that night, much to the Duke of Dortmund's surprise and relief.

Following the first round of toasts, while a thick, creamy soup is being served, Mats caught his father staring pointedly in his sister Sophia's direction. He sighed inwardly. These sort of overt gestures never failed to make him cringe.

The young girl cleared her throat. "I heard where the Marquis Höwedes resides is a frozen land covered year-round by snow. I guess only such a place can raise an ivory-skinned person such as yourself." Her tone was light and playful, but to Mats, her query sounded like the worst sort of icebreaker possible.

"It's true, my homeland is quite frigid, just not nearly as cold as Miss Hummels makes it out to be." The Marquis smiled ever so slightly at the girl sitting across from him, while simultaneously raising a hand and politely declining the servant who was about to refill his goblet.

"Is the wine not to your liking, Marquis?" The Duke of Dortmund, who was watching out of the corner of his eye, put down his spoon and asked in consternation.

"No, the wine is quite lovely. It's just that I rarely consume these crimson-coloured beverages, I guess I must have a natural aversion towards them. Besides," The Marquis broke off a small chunk of bread and continued: "There are no clergy members here reciting Bible verses, so to me, there is no need to 'consume the blood of Christ.'" He threw back his head and laughed heartily, which differed vastly from his reserved demeanor on the night of the Count of Mainz's banquet. The rest of the table was compelled to laugh along with him.

"I agree," Mats spoke up. "But only because I dislike the fermented taste of alcohol which masks the true flavour of grapes." He took a swig from his goblet and frowned, earning him an unsurprising look of disapproval from his father.

"If you are willing, I can show you around Schalke when summer is upon us." The Marquis held Mats in his unwavering gaze. "I have many fine meads stored within the cellars of Veltins Castle." The latter, evidently perturbed by his gaze, bowed his head and took a sip of his soup to mask his discomfort.

Again, the prickling sensation near his heart throbbed spontaneously, spreading gradually through his bloodstream to the rest of his body.

"I've heard that Veltins Castle is located atop a steep hill, surrounded by cliffs and the nearby Gelsenkirchen Forest. Naturally, not many intruders would dare to set foot in such a place, which renders it the perfect fortress." The Duke of Dortmund chimed in. 

The Marquis responded with an amused chuckle. "If all these rumours are indeed true, it'd be a chore for me to leave and return to the castle daily." He shook his head and stroke the gemstone on his left ring finger subtly, softening his tone so as to enthrall his audience with his words. "The castle is located near the edge of the Gelsenkirchen Forest. During the spring and summer seasons, the rush of waterfalls in the woods can be heard from within the castle, which makes it nice and cool even in the heat of summer. As for winter..." Here he paused and glanced at Sophia, who was listening attentively. "Like Miss Hummels said, it is usually covered with snow in winter, but hunts during this time will result in spectacular catches, although the animals may not be at their fattest yet."

As Mats listened raptly to his descriptions, the image of meandering rivers and dense woods manifested in his mind. At the foot of the rocky cliffs stood a majestic Gothic castle with magnificent towers, from which fluttered white-on-blue banners that proudly flaunted their allegiance.

"Mats! Mats!" He was jolted out of his trance by Sophia lightly nudging him with her elbow, and met a glower of displeasure from his father.

"The Marquis is speaking to you, Mats. What are earth were you thinking just now?"

Mats turned to the Marquis with an sheepish smile, with the latter calmly dabbing at the corners of his lips with a napkin. He is finding it increasingly difficult to meet the twinkling eyes of the visitor. Lowering his eyes to his plate instead, he realized that the appetizer has been taken away, replaced by a succulent cut of steak that wafted the aroma of pepper and spices into the air.

"Perhaps he's merely hypnotized by the exquisite food." The Marquis set down his napkin and suggested to the Duke of Dortmund. "Much like a man I used to know..."

"My apologies, Marquis." Mats muttered. "I..."

"It would be wonderful if you could address me by my given name instead, as 'Marquis' is somewhat inconvenient of a title." Benedikt's gaze darted quickly back to Mats, who was now lightly flushed with embarrassment. "Of course, I hope you don't mind me doing the same...Mats."

"...Not at all."

The visitor cocked his eyebrows and flashed him another inscrutable smile, then resumed his conversation with Mats' parents. 

The voice that uttered Mats' name moments ago echoed resoundingly in his ears, as if originating from bygone times. Likewise, perhaps he has heard the very same voice calling out for him in distant lifetimes.

*

That night, Mats dreamed that he awoke in an unfamiliar room with a four-poster bed draped in dark blue velvet. As he made his way down the winding staircase, he found himself in a fog-permeated place with his vision completely obscured. Perceiving the muffled call of his name from afar, he allowed his legs to carry him unconsciously towards the direction of the call, as if his entire being was gravitating towards the source.

A faint outline of a figure emerged from the frosty cloud of translucent mist. Mats could not discern his appearance nor attire; all he could do was allow himself to be led, trance-like towards the unrelenting voice.

An icy palm skimmed across his cheek, caressing his lips and nose in turn, coming to a rest across his eyes. The call of his name faded into the distance. A pair of cool arms encircled his waist from behind, as a slender yet sturdy body pressed against his back. The warm exhalation next to Mats' ear was a welcoming distraction from the swirls of chilly mist around them. Then -

"My love, the day has finally come. At last, you've returned to me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A rough guide to German noble rankings during the Holy Roman Empire in descending order, because I'm getting confused myself:
> 
> Archduke/Archduchess  
> Grand Duke/Grand Duchess  
> Count(ess)  
> Marquis/Marquess  
> etc.


	4. Into the Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with another chapter! (School has been keeping me on my toes)
> 
> Also, CONGRATS TO MATS AND CATHY ON THEIR ENGAGEMENT!

The relentless downpour of previous days gave way to brilliant rays of sun. Taking advantage of the fine weather, Mats accepted Sven's invitation to go for a hunt, and together, they set off for the neighbouring woods with a few accompanying pageboys.

"Heard you were sleepwalking again." Sven sat astride his favourite black steed with a set of bow and arrows slung across his back, leaning over to Mats and smirking surreptitiously.

"What do you mean 'again'?" Mats stared straight ahead, not even bothering to spare a look at his friend.

"Have you forgotten already? We stayed together at a summer lodge some years ago, and you disappeared during the night for reasons unknown. The next morning, Lars and I found you sprawled by the flower bushes in the garden, and the first thing you did was demand 'How did this happen?'" Sven chuckled merrily at the recollection, and Mats could not help but laugh along with him at his younger self.

"When we asked you to describe what happened during the night," Sven raised the pitch of his voice to mimic that of a small child: "You replied solemnly: 'I dreamed that I got lost in a huge forest. It took me forever to find my way out, and I feel exhausted!" Chortling to himself, Sven continued: "So, were you lost in the forest again?"

Mats' hands tensed momentarily on the reins. "No, not this time."

"Then what is it? Was the devil calling out for your soul or something?"

"Of course not. But even if the devil himself were after me, there'd be nothing to fear. For I know the Lord will protect me." Mats patted Sven's shoulder reassuringly.

Sven shrugged. "I sure hope so." He hesitated for a moment, then asked without warning: "Apparently the 'man of the moment' has been paying you visits?"

Mats froze. He knew Sven was referring to the Marquis, and nodded halfheartedly in response. While Sven updated him on the latest court gossip and intrigues, his mind soon became preoccupied with the man whose name was casually mentioned moments ago.

He recalled the Marquis paying him a visit following his sleepwalking mishap, with his loosely-buttoned forest green cloak, silken black shirt, and in his hands, a felt hat adorned with feathers that fluttered breezily with each step he took. The curve of his lips, the patch of lily-white skin beneath his collar, the voice that conveyed well-wishes to him...all melded into one with the distant voice calling out for him in his dreams.

Unnerved by these thoughts, Mats pressed a hand over his heart as he was taught as a child, and recited the Lord's name in earnest, praying for His blessing and forgiveness.

*

Mats and Sven arrived at their campground as the sun slid towards the horizon, with everything prepared well in advance for them. They passed their horses and catches of the day to the pageboys, then bathed their faces and hands in rosewater and sipped on mead to quench their thirst.

"Bloody warm today." Sven shrugged off his cloak and fanned himself vigorously with his hat, then caught sight of several white tents in the distance by the denser woods. "Hey, where did those come from?"

"Sire, it appears that they belong to the Marquis of Schalke." One of the pageboy who had been setting up camp earlier dutifully replied.

Mats' heart could not help but skip a beat, but he continued to drink his mead as if nothing had happened.

"Him?" Sven growled, his chiseled features locked in a deep frown.

"You seem rather reluctant to see him, Sven." Mats turned to his friend and demanded suspiciously. "Do you happen to dislike him?"

"Not exactly." Sven replied instantly. "It's just that I've heard his name being passed around one too many times recently, and my impression of him has not been stellar. He seems a bit...sullen, although Lars tells me he's a well-mannered and intelligent man of good character."

Mats watched as Sven attempted to mimic the composed and businesslike mannerisms of his twin brother. Shaking his head, he felt the pressure on his chest lift slightly, and suggested: "Since we've already bumped into him here, we might as well call on him and make our presence known."

"Be my guest. I'm going to stay and supervise dinner preparations." Sven turned away and began directing the pageboys rushing to and fro, leaving Mats to put down his glass of mead and hastily rearrange his hunting attire before setting off.

*

The entrance of the tent was lifted to reveal a sparsely-furnished interior. Benedikt reclined against his chair with one foot propped on a stool and the other casually stretched out, perusing a book propped on his knees intently. His cloak had been discarded carelessly to one side, above which lay his sheathed sword. The collar of his linen shirt had been tugged open, and Mats was almost reluctant to interrupt a tranquil scene such as this.

"Sire."

Benedikt raised his head towards the source of the voice,a familiar smile spreading across his features as he recognized Mats. Closing his book and setting it aside, he watched Mats approach without shifting from his position.

"Pardon my intrusion, Benedikt." Mats strode across the tent until he was addressing the reclining man directly. "I do hope I'm not disturbing you."

"Not at all." Benedikt craned his neck until he held Mats in his twinkling gaze. "In fact, it's quite a pleasant surprise to run into you here, of all places."

His heart rate quickening at Benedikt's words, Mats shifted his gaze elsewhere and pretended to study the interior of the tent.

"I came here to hunt with Sven von Bender, and just so happened to bump into you."

"We are en route to Schalke."

Taken aback by his words, Mats refocused his gaze upon Benedikt, as his chest abruptly tightened once more.

"Why so surprised?" Benedikt poured himself a glass of water and asked with an amused expression. "I can't exactly abandon my retinue back at Veltins Castle."

"True." Mats watched the movement of Benedikt's throat as he raised his head slightly and drank from his glass. He became aware of how parched his own throat was as he followed the bobbing motions of Benedikt's Adam's Apple, despite having taken refreshments not long ago.

"If you don't mind...would you like to dine with us tonight? We're fortunate to have caught a deer today." Mats proposed quickly to divert attention. The latter took one look at him and nodded:

"If Master Bender wills it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is my fav. because there's drunk!Sven and he's funny as hell.
> 
> Even though this is technically not my fic...come talk to me!


End file.
